Excuse Me, But Can I Be You For A While?
Item: Jacket. Color/Fabric: Wedding Pink, Viscose. Designer: Kate Spade. Where Purchased: Marshall’s. Years Owned: Just over one.
So tonight, I have a few things to confess. The first is that I love this jacket dearly, and it is one of my favorite pieces. I will probably not get rid of it, even if you beg me to. As for the second… well, we’ll get there.
But first, let me tell you about this jacket. When I think of Kate Spade, I think of clean lines, a polished, classic beauty. And that’s just what I thought when I found this jacket, buried deep within a Marshall’s clearance rack. My heart thrilled, delighting in subtle, elegant details, like the stitching on the collar, the heavy metal buttons, and the poppy lining, designed by Florence Broadhurst. I was in love! I tried it on, and I felt like a woman, like Jackie O, even. I knew that it would be a staple in my closet for years to come. And how appropriate for a mini vacay to Vermont!
But how does one accessorize a bright pink Kate Spade Jacket? With big black sunglasses, a large handbag, and a lovely silk blouse. Oh, yeah! And toilet paper hanging out of my pants! Ah, perfection!!
Yes. I did that. A surely as the sun does shine!
It seems that, no matter how hard I try, I just will never be a flawlessly chic, classy lady. There will always be a smidgeon of country-bumpkinism inside of me. It’s just destiny. I can’t fight it. I won’t stop trying, though!
But. To the story! I started out the day feeling fabulous. Nate and I were on a little Vermont getaway, staying at one of our favorite quaint inns, and embarking on an all day brewery tour, zipping around the countryside in our tiny red car. It was a beautiful September day, and I felt wonderful, basking in sun and love and delicious ales.
I’m not sure exactly when things went awry. There we went, one brewery after another, getting our adorable beer passports stamped with multicolored, whimsical stamps, traveling the entire length of the rather small state. They never really give you large enough sample to get intoxicated, but I was feeling a little silly, a little tipsy. And I guess, by the end of the excursion, a little sloppy.
One of our last stops was the Magic Hat Brewery, which, although it was one of the more commercial spots we visited, was filled with delicious potions, and actual magic hats! Like this one:
We were there for a while, ordering samples from the bar, taking pictures in the booth, perusing wares for gifts, waiting in line for purchases.
Yes. I was all over that place, walking every square inch, proudly displaying my TP Tail to the seething mass of patrons inside.
Completely, blissfully unaware!
I discovered the atrocity upon leaving. After turning the same color as my beloved jacket, I immediately turned on my husband.
“How, how, HOW could you have let me walk around like that? With TOILET PAPER hanging out of my pants??”
A shrug. “I didn’t notice,” was his sheepish response.
Hmm. He didn’t notice? Really?? Hope welled up inside of me. Maybe no one else noticed, either! Maybe everyone was too drunk to notice the happy, silly girl with the TP Tail!
Upon examining the evidence, though, I’m afraid my hope was groundless.
There are so many things wrong with this picture. One, it looks like I am standing next to an outhouse. Two, my blouse is bunched up unflatteringly. Three, the look on my face already looks embarrased, like I totally knew I had TP hanging out of my pants. And four. You can totally see the TP. Totally.
Sigh.
No one is perfect, right?
Not even Jackie O.
I’m certain she had her fair share of TP tales to tell! Right? Right??
One last confession.
This is not even the first time this has happened to me.
Country Bumpkin, 4-Eva.
Lessons I Have Learned: Part One- The Bridge
Why, hello there! I know. It’s been a long time.
Again.
But why, you ask?
All I can tell you is that I have been struggling with some extreme, extra-hurty growing pains.
And that I miss this and I need this, and that I’m not the same person when my fingers only touch a keyboard to enter numbers into Excel spreadsheets.
So I’m coming back, even if there is no one left out there who reads these words.
I just need them, is all.
One lesson that was particularly hard for me to learn during this period of strange transition is that sometimes the only way around turbulence is just to suck it up and build a bridge.
It’s really no use to look back and try to figure out how the damage started.
It does no good to stare into the flood and ask why.
And if you try to fight against it, you will most likely be swallowed whole.
And so. The bridge.
Build a bridge. Move forward. Keep going.
That’s my plan, for now, at least.
It required an almost 12-hour closet clean out. But I feel more organized than ever. And I have a Shelf-Of-Honor for my most beloved shoes.
So, new closet, a (slightly) new look, a new inspiration, new stories, and, dare I say, a new attitude!
And, best of all, a new model. Meet Dottie! She has a wonderful resume, having started her career with the incomparably fabulous Juda Leah. Her best feature? She actually has a booty! So it will be so much easier to put trousers and skirts on her.
But for now, she’s modeling the newest love of my life, a gorgeous necklace by Alicia Stang, found at Juda’s shop.
And don’t feel sad for Trixie, my last model. She’ll enjoy a lovely retirement, wearing something beautiful.
Maybe even on the Shelf-of-Honor…
Well. I can’t wait to get started again! I will not be here as often as in my Year of Frenzied Writing. I wish I could, but time just doesn’t last as long as it used to, it seems. But I will be here, at least once per week.
So check back soon!
Time Flies.
Item: Blouse Color/Fabric: Baby pink, silk Designer: Rebecca Taylor Where Purchased: Shopbop.com Years Owned: 5ish?
Well, friends, I last left you with “Writing Begets Writing,” or some other such nonsense. It is true. But what is equally, if not more, true is that “Not Writing Begets Not Writing.” Yes. There is that.
My Month of Frenzied Writing will not be finishing quite as smashingly as it started, I’m afraid. There were a lot of totally awesome distractions that came my way- and I enjoyed them fully.
I will not feel guilty.
There really is no reason for guilt. Because many wonderful things happened this month! I wrote more than I have in all of five years. I worked out a few tricky plot points that made me throw in the towel long ago. I created a Work Mantra that has helped the days pass easier. I saw a dear and sorely missed Southern transplant. I won tickets to a mind-blowing concert. I threw a spectacularly fun party for my awesome trainers. And most importantly, I made a promise in my heart that I am not giving up on my book.
A promise made in the heart is one of the most solemn vows there is. I feel it every time my heart beats.
It’s the real deal.
Also in April, I got to see two totally rocking, utterly heart wrenching performances of one of my all-time favorite shows- Rent. Flawlessly produced by Castaway Players, and starring many of my dear friends, it took my breath away both times I saw it. If you missed it, you can watch many memorable moments here:
I was completely in awe of my friend Sean’s powerful performance of “One Song Glory,” and it made me think of the time I got to see Broadway’s original Roger, Adam Pascal, sing the song in a warm, intimate setting. Oh, yes- I also got to be in his first music video.
How did this happen? Let me tell you. One day I received a mass email from my friend Jarek, who makes music videos and movies and such and is ridiculously talented, looking for extras to be in an Adam Pascal music video.
Of course Nate and I went!
It wasn’t quite as glamorous as I hoped- mostly, it involved sitting in a bar, and waiting, and sitting even more, and waiting even longer, all the while listening to the same line of the same song over and over. It was a beautiful song, of course. Listening to anything over and over, for hours, even if a Broadway legend is singing it, can be enough to drive anyone a little mad. But I got to be in the same room with Adam Pascal, and stare at him endlessly! And it was really awesome watching the music video process.
So, worth it. Definitely!
Especially at the end, when he treated us to a little spontaneous concert. It was beyond late at this point, and I think I was slightly delirious. I can’t remember what exactly was played- I just remember being transfixed in a surreal moment. And then crying, of course, when he played “One Song Glory.”
A magical, magical night.
And the video turned out incredible- Jarek did a remarkable job! I’m very proud to have been a part of it, even though Nate and I are in it for literally one tenth of a second. You should watch it now. See if you can find us, and this blouse! Like Where’s Waldo, but with fashion!
Ah, this blouse. Five-ish years ago, when I got this, the trend was very low rise pants, low rise skirts, low rise everything. So I had a hard time finding anything to wear with it, given its sweet drawstring waist. Plus, it’s so delicate, and so very baby pink, that I am terrified of spilling something on it and ruining it. Therefore, I have hardly ever worn this, besides that night.
But what is the point in not wearing it? There is none. It’s a shame- I really think it is so beautiful.
You?
Like A Boss. Son.
Item: Tunic/Tank Color/Fabric: Black, silk, sequins Designer: La Rok Where Purchased: Next Boutique: 2
Here it is, the fourth day of April. And I am happy! If you missed my last post, let me fill you in briefly. April is NaNoWriMo, and I am attempting to write 50,000 words this month to finish my second novel. Four days in, and I’m proud to say that I’m doing well-ish. I have written 3,750 words, fairly effortlessly. It is not inspired writing, to be sure. God has not entered my keyboard just yet. But still, I’m writing. I am proving to myself that I can absolutely get up in the wee small hours of the morning and write away for a few hours before switching gears entirely and heading off to my administrative, managerial, gym-related full time job.
Why, of course I can.
I can do anything!
Ok, maybe not absolutely anything. But I sure can do many things!
I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep up with this blog during my 30 days of frenzied writing. But it seems like the old saying is holding true for me, at least in these last few days: Writing begets writing. I just want to keep doing it. I love it. I can’t get enough of it.
And so here I am tonight, with this incredible sequined number for your consideration.
My job can get…stressful. There are times when I really would like nothing better than to shove a pencil into my eye. Or into someone else’s eye.
But that’s having a job. Everyone feels like that at times. Right?
Lately, though, my job has been wonderful. My clients are great, and amaze me every day. And I have the honor of having assembled, somehow, a group of some of the finest human beings I’ve ever known. My team of Trainers really are unbelievable.
I’m very blessed.
So what does this fabulous tunic have to do with Personal Training?
Well, 2011 was a record setting year for my team, and so I decided to celebrate by taking them on a night on the town last February. I reserved a VIP table at Shadows-On-The Hudson, a night club that wants so badly to be fancy, and succeeds mostly because their aren’t very many other upscale options in Poughkeepsie.
But how to get there? I certainly didn’t want my Trainers to have to drive; I wanted them to kick back and relax and celebrate. I really wanted to rent a limo, but after a few promises predictably fell through, that ended up being outside of my price range. What else could I do?
I rented a mini-van.
It became the Party Van, a concept I came up with based on my experience of the Candy Van (you can read about that one here).
Of course, I decorated it. And then stuffed the pockets with mints and bottled water. And then made a custom Party Van playlist with such appropriate tunes as Bossy by Kelis (because sometimes, I like to close the door of my office and sing, “‘Cause I’m the BOSS!”)and Big Pimpin’ by Jay-Z (I have heard that Jay-Z actually did write that song in a mini-van. I might be wrong, though). And then I made cds engraved with our pictures for everyone to take home, to immortalize the evening.
And then, we partied!
I wanted to wear this top because it seems to be made for dancing. It’s light weight, has plenty of sequins to catch the lights, and has this funky, flapper-y fringe to move about when I shimmy.
It was perfect! Shadows was… interesting. To say the least. Some of us got a groove on, some of us merely drank and watched go-go dancers. But we all had fun. It was rather shocking, though, how fast 8 people can polish off a bottle of vodka!
So we moved somewhere with a more relaxed vibe- McGullicudy’s, a college beloved Irish Pub. Here’s where beer got added into the mixture, which in hindsight was probably a bad idea. Isn’t there always someone who gets a little out of hand at the work party? Yeah, we had that person.
Someone got a little grabby.
I won’t name names to protect the not-very-innocent, but no one was off limits. Male, female, friends, strangers, and even wooden posts… things spiraled into awkward at an alarming pace.
And in the Party Van on the way back, I had to martyr the top of my head. It seemed that if I could direct unwanted advances to my forehead and away from my Trainer’s bottoms, I might be able to finish the evening with everyone’s dignity and jobs intact.
Somehow, it worked. I’m not sure if our happy molester was aware that what he massaged for 20 minutes was the top of my head… But, whatever. It worked!
It was a pretty epic evening. One that I do not think will be matched for a long time to come. We might get the chance to try again. My team is killing 2013!
So, yes. I am happy. My day job is awesome, my hobbies are rewarding.
I feel fulfilled. And very, very grateful!
Now Or Never!
Item: Blouse Color/Fabric: Mossy/Paisley, Acrylic/Wool Designer: Lux Where Purchased: Urban Outfitters Years Owned: 10+
So lately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this phrase. In the past, I’ve always thought of it as an ultimatum type word. You know. “Put a ring on my finger now, or you’ll never see me again.” Or “Ambrosius, if you don’t turn around right this second (now), I will never feed you again.” That sort of thing.
Now, though, specifically these last few months, it’s come to mean more to me.
If I do not do a thing now, I will never do it.
Very literally, absolutely true.
And it’s not that “You never know what tomorrow will hold, so don’t wait” thing. It’s just truly that if I don’t do something or set something in motion now, this instant, it’s just not ever going to happen.
I am the same person I will be next week, six months from now, 10 years from now. The same person with big dreams and small drive. The same person who can’t seem to ever get enough of procrastination. If I am reluctant to do something right now, I will be exactly as reluctant in six months.
There just isn’t ever going to be a better opportunity, a more perfect moment. This is the moment. Now. Today.
Maybe this statement isn’t true for everyone. I know it’s true for me.
Therefore. If I don’t start writing my book now, it’s never going to happen. I will not magically wake up one day with the desire to get out of my warm bed and start typing. I will not discover some untapped pot of energy that I will delve into one night after work. I will not one day receive a surprise inheritance that allows me to stay home and write all day long. There is no point waiting. These things just aren’t going to happen.
Either I am a writer now, or I will never be.
I started this blog as an exercise for my writing muscles, and to prove to myself that it absolutely was possible for me to maintain an full time job, come home, switch gears, and write.
Success!
I failed, though, in converting that success into other aspects of writing. Like working on my novel.
I hate the way that sounds- my novel. I don’t feel qualified to say that. Maybe I might be some day, if it is ever published. I guess for now I’ll stick with “my manuscript.”
Or does that sound even more pretentious? Ugh.
Anyway. I have written a book. And also fifteen pages of its sequel.
But I haven’t touched either of them in almost five years. Five years!
I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to find the second one. I couldn’t remember where I had saved it, all those years ago. But my patient hubby helped me find it, and I instantly had to read every word.
It was the same as reading the words of a stranger. There was something ever so vaguely familiar about them, but mostly they felt utterly foreign. I feel so far removed from the theme, the characters, the plot. The process. It’s a world that has spit me out.
And I am completely overwhelmed by the idea of somehow trying to get back in.
But I sure am going to try!
April is NaNoWriMo, a month where lunatics across this great nation of ours attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.
I want to be one of those lunatics!!
I think NaNoWriMo used to be in November, but now it happens multiple times per year. No matter. This is the only month I’ve ever felt prepared to try it.
What, pray tell, does all of this have to do with this sweet hippie blouse?
Well, since I made this mental commitment, I’ve been reminiscing about what it was like to write my first manuscript. Or whatever you want to call it. The idea came to me during a run, when I was still living in Michigan. I didn’t really start writing it until I moved to New York, but those early days of dreaming and brainstorming, when absolutely anything seemed possible, still glitter like jewels in my memory.
This top is one of the few garments that I still have from those days. It has narrowly escaped the chopping block on about a decade of closet clean outs. I just can’t seem to let it go, though. But I have absolutely no idea how long it’s been since I’ve worn it. This was one of my favorite $1 items at Urban Outfitters, and I know I got my money’s worth out of it! I just can’t remember when.
I was completely charmed by the shape of it and the cute macrame neckline, though, when I put it on Trixie. I think that a hang up I always had about this was that it’s a tad short. I typically like tops to hit me a little lower.
However, I do have a fabulous pair of Farrah Fawcett jeans that I have been wearing constantly lately. They would look great with this.
The question remains: Have I held onto this for all these years for nostalgic or aesthetic reasons? Is one a more valid reason to keep clothing than the other?
So. 50,000 words is a lot. A whole heck of a lot. Even in focusing on quantity over quality, I may not succeed.
It’s ok if I fail. At least I will have given it one more try.
I have a lot to prove to myself.
If I don’t do it now, I never will.
So here’s to now!
And by now, I mean four days from now.
The Edge of Glory.
Item: Fancy tube top Color/Fabric: Black, unsure. Dreams? Designer: Chanel (!) Where Purchased: Last Call Neiman Marcus Years Owned: 1.5
Sometimes, I crack myself up. Oh, I have been saving this one! It had to wait, though, until I thought of a fitting title. And then, on the drive home from work, this little gem came to me.
Perfection! It makes me laugh, out loud, and is much better than my working title: Holy Chanel, Spiderman!
Oh, yes, I am a nerd. A great, big, giant one. I wear that badge, and proudly!
I am a nerd about a great multitude of things, to varying degrees of social acceptability. Birds. Check. Books. Check. Excel spread sheets. Check. Obsessive fandom. Check!
It’s been a while since I’ve written about this topic.
I’m referring, of course, to my lifelong obsessive fandom of U2. If you are surprised by this, please read here, here, or here, to catch up a bit.
I don’t know how to explain it. I think I am just built in such a way that once something enters my heart, it lives there forever. Which explains why cabbage sometimes makes me cry, I still wear jewelry I’ve had since I was a little girl, and that I’ve been in love with the same man for half of my life.
I’ve just never stopped loving my first favorite rock band. I guess it’s really not that weird, compared to how most men feel about their favorite sports team. My obsession is probably even perfectly sane, if you gauge it by sports obsession!
But people usually have very mixed reactions about U2. I’ve been scoffed at, hugged, laughed at, stared at with incredulity, friended, defriended, smacked in the face, kissed on the lips, pitied, envied, and scorned for my love of U2.
Well, maybe not all of those things. Most of them.
I think most of the reason for this wide range of reactions is due to Bono. He seems to really polarize the people. He makes the hair on your arms stand, or he rises your hackles. You either want to have a drink with him or throw a drink on him.
The Edge, U2’s guitarist, though, doesn’t seem to have this problem. He’s wicked smart, non-threateningly attractive, widely acknowledged as talented, and by all known accounts, a nice, normal guy.
I’ve just always been a little more obsessed with Bono.
So, when I found out that Bono and the Edge were going to be on Broadway Talks with Jordan Roth to discuss their Spiderman debacle, there was nothing that could stop me from attending. I even roped a few of my closest friends in!
I called it Bono Day.
Don’t judge.
Of course, for as momentous a day as Bono Day, I would need to wear something fabulous. Chanel, of course!
I found this on the Rescue Rack at Last Call. It doesn’t look like much on the hanger, or on Trixie, but it has beautiful details:
I picked it up; I put it down. I picked it up, I put it down. I was intrigued, but not sure why. It had no label, and also, a hole:
Still, I liked it. I tried it on, and it was beautiful! I was in love.
As I left the dressing room, a sales woman grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “Just so you know, that’s Chanel, my dear.”
Well, yes!
We went home together. Well, the Rescued Chanel and I, not the sales woman…
Well. This seemed perfect for Bono Day. I wore it with a long grey skirt and turquoise jewelry. And since I had not had time to fix the hole, I tied a lovely scarf around my waist. I felt great, until I saw Lizzie, who said in her adorable tremulous voice, “Um, Kerry? Am I dressed up enough?”
“Yes, of course!” I told her. “I’m just crazy.”
True. I was most likely overdressed.
I am not ashamed of that. I do, though, routinely feel a little ashamed by part of the story to come…
To summarize a magnificent day up to the cringing point: Lizzie and I met Kevin and Vicki, enjoyed a Bavarian bierhaus on third avenue, had a few Perfect Pints, then strolled in the sun to the 92 Street Y, where Lizzie and I listened to Bono and the Edge be wonderfully charming, funny, and insightful about theatre, music, and life.
Now for the cringing.
I wanted to wait after the interview for a chance to chat with my heroes. Lizzie was wiling to keep me company, as did about a hundred other nerdy super fans.
And we waited. And waited. Then we waited more.
Then Bono came out, waved cheerfully, and promptly drove off in his black SUV.
About half of my fellow crazies left, disheartened. But, no! Not I.
I waited even more. And then some more.
I checked, repeatedly, with Lizzie to make sure she was ok with waiting, too. “Oh, yes!” she said in her chipper Lizzie way.
But at one point, she went to sit against a wall for a bit. I looked over at her, and saw her staring at her phone unhappily, and rest her head in her hand for a moment.
I felt such guilt. I should have left then, for her. But I did not. I could not. I could not let go.
“One more minute, and The Edge will be here!” I thought. And after a minute, “Just one more minute!”
I was so selfish and single minded. I cared only about my own weird desire to meet this person who I will never be able to know, and who will never know my name.
And then, in an instant, there he was in his snug leather jacket and cozy knit beanie!
There were a few panicky moments when it seemed like he was leaving before he made it to our side of the group. He went to his car, and protests rung out. Then he came back, held up a new Sharpie, and smiled.
Many hearts melted along with mine.
But I can’t remember exactly what I said when he approached me. I had him sign a lovely lithograph, which Lizzie captured beautifully. I especially like that the body guard is looking at me like “This one’s got all kinds of crazy in her eyes!”
I do remember, though, telling him to break a leg, as Spiderman was opening the following day. In retrospect, perhaps that wasn’t the nicest thing to say about a show so plagued by injuries…
Still, his kind, crinkly eyes twinkled at me. He shook my hand, and thanked me, sincerely.
His is a warm, sweet soul.
And that is how Bono Day turned into to The Edge Day.
I guess the moral of this tale is that true friends will put up with your craziness. And sometimes, even aid and abet it. I am so grateful that my Lizzie still talks to me after my selfish hi-jinks!
As much as this story makes me cringe, I’m ultimately glad that it happened, because every year, it seems that I loose a bit of crazy. Now only time will tell if I still have enough in me to try anything like that ever again…
Too Much Is Not Enough!
Item: Dress/Tunic Color/Fabric: Black/Floral, cotton/silk Designer: Kenar Where Purchased: Marshall’s Years Owned: 3
I started writing this one week and one day ago. I wrote until I was physically and emotionally unable to form coherent words. And then I busied myself with knickers, buttons, swings, and corsets for a week. Now I am back, and missing you!!
So I am still decompressing from an unbelievable Hawaiian Escapade. I am still struggling a bit with jet lag, and feel a little murky and unsure of day, date, or time. Feeling, though, fairly certain of place. I am in New York. I am no longer in Maui.
This is not as awful as it sounds.
It is slightly awful, however.
Mostly I am just a vicious whirlpool of emotion.
Today will be my only opportunity to unpack everything all week, and so I had to take it. But unfolding, straightening, and putting everything back in its home has filled me with such sorrow.
Clothing I didn’t get to wear. Clothing I wore, but can’t remember exactly when. Clothing that, when lifted, deposits tiny grains of sand onto my bed.
But I think the saddest part is travel brochures about life changing adventures we didn’t have a chance to take.
Shiny, happy pamphlets featuring shiny, happy people who will remain on a zipline in a jungle canopy for all eternity. Or at least until the company decides to change their add campaign.
There’s just never enough time, is there?
Or money. There’s just never enough time or money, is there?
At the start of our journey, twelve long, luxurious days stretched before me, full of promise. Twelve empty pages eagerly waiting to be filled. And as a few days passed, still it seemed that way. We have over a week left! I would think, jubilantly. And then, We have an entire week still! Next, Almost a full week!
Followed, inevitably, as our vacation became more than halfway over, by We only have a few days left! I began to feel panicky, rolling down a hill and gaining momentum with every day, every hour.
I tried to drown such thoughts, focus on the present, eagerly devour every moment of paradise.
And I did!
We had a wonderful, awe-inspiring time.
Every so often, though, there came the sad certainty that we would have to leave.
Not that that’s a bad thing! There are so many good things about being home; our furry babies, our awesome friends and co-workers, getting back into our daily rhythms.
My heart does thrill a bit at the thought of routine, and structure. And it also quails a bit, at the same time.
It’s hard to get thrown out of paradise into the exact same world you live with day by day.
It’s also inevitable.
I know that.
I just have such a hard time adjusting to life. When something looms on the horizon that I am anticipating, I let my imagination fill to the brim. I spend so long dreaming and fantasizing about the exotic lands to be explored. I live there much longer than 12 days.
And then, when it’s over, I feel displaced. Lost.
Currently, my horizon is empty.
I have nothing to plan for.
Nothing to dream about.
But wait!
That’s a good thing, right? That means I’m working with an empty canvas.
I can create a new dream from scratch.
And so I shall!
I also have stories to tell, of whales and rainbows, volcanoes and turtles, wind, rain, and sand.
First, though, the tale of an unworn tunic. This was one of the space-takers in my suitcase. It seemed like it would be perfect; cotton, and easy enough to throw over a swimsuit. Cute enough to wear with sandals to dinner.
But I the right moment for this never did present itself. I almost included this with my last yard sale, since I’ve only ever worn it once; to the cast party for Psycho Beach Party, a delightful show I had a tiny part in but thoroughly loved. I wore it with leggings, which was a mistake.
It’s too thin, really, for leggings, even though I think it’s long enough. I think this should most likely be worn with gauzy wide-legged pants. And towering espadrilles.
I do like the obi-like silk sash, and the wide sleeves, and that the floral is dark enough to not be so girly-girly. I just haven’t really given it a chance. I don’t wear floral prints, really, ever.
I told myself that I was saving it for Hawaii.
But since I didn’t actually wear it, does it warrant another try?
On The Mend.
Item: Blouse Color/Fabric: Bluish/greenishness, silk Designer: Elie Tahari Where Purchased: Last Call Neiman Marcus Years Owned: 4
Tonight, I would like to get some feedback about a little project I’ve been working on. This blouse is something I picked up using one of my most favored shopping methods, “The Rescue.” The Rescue is dangerous. There’s no guarantee of a positive outcome. I could, in all likely-hood, end up ruining a nearly perfectly good piece of clothing.
But I almost never do.
Here’s what happens:
I find a beautiful garment that has a few minor flaws. Perhaps a ripped seam. Perhaps a gaping hole. Perhaps a few missing beads. Perhaps all buttons are missing.
And a few times, there is a mystery. Sometimes, the garment is a jumbled mess. There are straps crossed, and linings inverted, and it is unclear to most rational beings what, exactly the garment actually is. Dress? Capelet? Blouse? Snood?
Then I swoop in, the Nancy Drew of fashion, to save the day and the clothing!
Usually, I have great fun trying to mend what I found. And usually, I am beyond pleased with the result.
This blouse, however, has given me many problems.
I discovered it, neglected and abused, stuffed sadly into a rack of other fashion misfits at Last Call:Neiman Marcus (my favorite place to execute The Rescue. You can read another Rescue tale here).
It was a mystery piece- so abused that it was beyond recognition. The major flaw was that the left side was almost entirely tangled and trapped in the zipper. and it had a large tear in the chiffon overlay in the bodice.
But I loved the color, and am not one to shirk from a challenge. So it came into my happy home.
It took me a long, tedious time, to get the delicate silk out of the zipper. Then I tried just a few stitches in the bodice, but it just wouldn’t lay right.
And so, I made a regrettable error. I tried fabric glue.
To disastrous result.
It’s not ruined! I told myself. Surely, you can still wear it- the ties will cover up the awful fabric glue remnants!
Surely!
And so, I gave it a shot. One would think that I might try a kind venue, a show, or a small gathering, to test my handiwork. But, no. I dreamed big. I wore it on a shift at Next Boutique.
Working there is like being under a giant style microscope. A Stylescope!
I don’t know what I was thinking.
I felt so awkward and awful, like when I wore a raspberry beret to the first day of sixth grade.
The beret, though, was easy to take off. The blouse, I was stuck with.
Yes, the ties do cover the mended area. On Trixie. Who does not move or breathe.
When I moved, breathed, spoke above a dull whisper, the delicate chiffon shifted, revealing my fabric glue error in all its hideousness.
I know Tim Gunn would have told me to make it work. I just couldn’t. My self-esteem is a tight-rope walker with a broken pole.
Well. My shame was so great that I never wore it again.
Tonight, though, I decided to take one last stab at the rescue. Because I know that I have the power to save this lovely blouse, hidden somewhere deep within me!
I cut away the fabric blue, and stitched it all the way up. Like so:
I tried it on, and turned, and bent over, and danced a few steps. And, I think, I felt no waiver of confidence! What do you think? A successful Rescue at last?
Closer Than They Appear.
Item: Dress Color/Fabric: Glittery Green, polyester Designer: H&M Where Purchased: The Salvation Army Years Owned: 4 (!)
Sometimes, words are so very difficult. Unnecessarily so. Sometimes, there’s just blinking. Staring. Sighing.
And little to no actual finger movement.
I have been attempting to write about this green dress for a week now.
It is not going at all well.
Does that mean that I should skip this one for now, or just keep trudging through the vast word void in my mind?
Hmm.
I trudge.
Tonight, I am feeling a little blue. Perhaps it is because I am not feeling inspired. Perhaps it is because I am missing some dear friends. Perhaps it is because I bought a new dress yesterday and I feel guilty. Perhaps it is because I am listening to Glen Hansard.
Perhaps it is all of the above.
And also that I miss being on stage.
Therefore, this is the only dress I could think of writing about.
Why? Let me count the ways.
1) It sort of looks like something a fairy might wear. Should I come upon a fairy, I think that the magic and fairy dust and what-not would make me feel inspired. Probably until the end of time.
2) The one and only time I wore this dress was to hang out with the very same friends I am currently missing. And it was a wonderful night!
3) According to the rules of Thrifty Thirteen, my penance for buying a new dress is to surrender three. Since I have only worn this once in four years, and even then as an accident, I think I may be able to part with it. If you agree.
4) Glen Hansard is Irish. Green is a color often associated with Ireland. This is a green dress. Yes?
5) The night I accidentally wore this dress was after a performance of one of my favorite shows I have ever been a part of.
Sure. Ok. But what is the story?
I found this odd little number at the Salvation Army, with my magical shopping partner, Lisa. At first, I picked it up because I thought that it might be a little retro dress of sorts. But then, upon closer inspection, with the handkerchief hem and glittery thread, it was a little more ice-skater than retro. A little more Tinkerbell than Doris Day.
I felt like it would be a great costume. For something. Someday.
Pus, it was 50% off day. It was only $2!
And so it became mine.
By becoming mine, I mean that it sat in a bag in the back of my car for a few days or maybe even weeks.
Until a particular Friday, when I had a performance of The Who’s Tommy. Which my not be my favorite show to watch, or listen to.
But it was amazing to be a part of it on stage.
I’ve written about it fairly extensively here.
Those were long, hard days. i had to leave directly from work and drive straight to the theater, without passing go or collecting $200. Or dinner.
I had to bring extra clothes to change into after the show, as I didn’t want to participate in an after show celebration in yoga pants.
This particular night, I had assembled a marvelous ensemble.
And promptly left it on the kitchen table.
Fury! What could I do? I was a slave to workout clothes.
Then I remembered: a green fairy dress in the backseat of my car.
It worked, for the most part. I did not feel entirely put together or comfortable.
Occasionally, I wondered, Do I look like Michelle Kwan?
And in the end, I didn’t care. That much.
Because I was surrounded by wonderful friends. Including my Lizzie and Vicki, who I am missing desperately these days.
And also, Lemon Drop shots that were poured into martini glasses for some odd reason.
No matter. The very lovely Dianne, Josie, and I did just fine!
We are pros.
Well.
What I have learned from this post is that I miss being on stage.
I think that was the majority of the reason for my melancholy of late.
But should I keep this dress?
Ode to Pain.
Item: Pants Color/Fabric: Army green, Designer: Sanctuary Where Purchased: A gift from Tess Years Owned: Five
Today was sort of a monumental day. I went to see my superstar surgeon, Dr. Bryan Kelly, to check on my three-month post-op progress.
I’m proud to say that it’s very good!
I think I could take A-Rod at this point.
However.
I saw many people wearing facial expressions I am very familiar with. And then I had the chance to speak to a few who aren’t doing as well as I am.
I have a slight advantage. I’ve been through this before.
Throughout the last four years, and specifically the last three months, I’ve given a great deal of thought to the nature of pain.
Pain is a bitch.
It can eat you alive. It can suck out your soul. It puts lines on your face as it leaves scars on your body.
And it’s not just physical. Emotionally, it is just as devastating. There are the nights, lying awake, hurting, wondering if it is all in your head.
Wondering what is wrong with you.
Wondering if you will ever be normal again.
Fearing that those around you are asking those exact same questions.
Worrying that those around you think you are crazy.
Worrying that you might actually be crazy.
Pain literally turns you inside out. It gets so hard to focus on anything other than what is hurting. Hard to not be introverted, to reach out. To be social. It makes you feel like a bad person and a worse friend.
To summarize; pain sucks. Hard.
A woman I met asked me when my pain started.
I answered without hesitation.
“2008. I was hiking in the Austrian Alps.”
Which is not altogether true. I had some strange occurrences before then.
But in the Alps was where I realized that something was most definitely wrong. Here’s how it started, the birth of chronic pain, detailed in crisp, color photos!
This is the start of the hike. Full of hope, eagerness, and brisk air! It was surreal, being surrounded by this majestic, breath-taking, historic beauty. I was truly excited to climb an Alp.
But it didn’t take long for the pain to set in. Every time I had to lift my leg to 90 degrees, there was a sharp pain. And this was a tall Alp, with a steep incline. Every step I took lifted my leg to 90 degrees. So I sat:
I don’t rest during hikes. Usually I am the fearless leader, doubling back to rejoin my companions when I get too far ahead. So this picture is very unusual. As is this one:
This expression is saying “Stairs, you have completely and irrevocably broken my heart.” This is not something I usually say to stairs. I love stairs! I love to run up them multiple times, and even more to make other people run up them multiple times. So this was a historic moment in the relationship between stairs and myself.
This is about halfway up the mountain. I was not sure I could go further. And then I did. Afterall, we had but a few days in Austria. Who could say if I would ever get another chance to twirl on a mountain top in the Alpine breezes like Maria von Trapp? Plus, I wanted to know what was up there. And it turned out to be so many surprises!
This unbelievably pristine lake. Multiple cold, crystalline waterfalls. Snow. Edelweiss. Edelweiss!! Giant, fat Alpine frogs, hiding in snow. Teeny tiny Alpine frogs covering but one fingernail. It was magical.
Did I twirl?
Of course I did.
But there was one more surprise waiting for us.
A restaurant on the top of the world.
It was run by two smiling women who spoke not one word of English. They had to bring out their specialty to show us, since they could not describe it. And I could not have been more overjoyed.
Soup!! This is honestly the best, heartiest, tastiest, most soul-healingist soup I have ever sipped.
Nate and I still talk about it, in the hushed, reverent tones befitting a true legend.
And the pants have become a hiking staple. Spain, Vermont, Esopus… I think they are adorable and very functional.
They travel well.
The only drawback is that they are a little too big. I need to cinch the waist a bit to avoid flashing my naughty bits.
Is that a deal breaker? Or are these the type of rugged pants one wears literally to pieces?
And to everyone out there, dealing with pain of whichever form, I want to tell you not to give up. Not to go all Miley Cyrus on you, but…
Yes, you are battling with a very tall mountain. Yes, sometimes it is too hard to go on. Sometimes, you slide down a little. Sometimes you even fall off and have to start over even more battered than before.
But once you reach the peak, and you will reach the peak, there will be surprises there, more than you ever imagined. It will be worth it!
There even might be soup.
Here’s hoping that I am about to peak!
I Am What I Wore 